


Soporo Sanguine

by 0plus2equals1



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Hypnosis, Other, artsy fartsy mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0plus2equals1/pseuds/0plus2equals1
Summary: A frustrated hunter confronts and is comforted by the faceless being guarding the top of Mergo's Loft. Sometimes, a hunter doesn't want to hunt.





	Soporo Sanguine

It was odd, the hunter thought, to see the moon in a nightmare. In a world of yawning abysses and cloudy phantasms, of crumbling libraries, of the alien and unknown, seeing something so familiar and clear gave them pause. It was shining wholly unhindered; the clouds almost seemed to pass behind it. The building they traversed was built up towards that lunar body, stretching in staircases and elevators.

They pushed forward, cutting through any obstacles, feeling mindlessly _driven. _The hunter ascended as if to rise and meet the moon. 

* * *

The hunter paused at the threshold. They saw before them a circular arena opened to the night sky and lined with columns. In the center was a pram. The cries of an infant rattled in their skull. Their blade felt like a burden weighing their arm down to their side—they shook their head. All was silent now, so they advanced. Their boots ghosted over the flagstones. They moved as if sneaking up on a sleeping animal. The cries returned, grew stronger, and clawed up the back of their spine, loud enough to hurt.

The hunter wanted to clutch their head, but they merely tightened their grip on their pistol. A few more steps and they would be able to peer into the carriage and take aim—

The tepid air broke into a breeze. Something large fell in front of them. The carriage was enveloped in soft darkness—the hunter could still hear the crying but it sounded muffled, as if it were bubbling up through pitch. 

The thing in front of them began to unfurl and the hunter could discern that it was some form of nightmare-creature. Massive black feathers hung from her sides like a cloak. A serpentine head stretched forward, adorned with velvety cloth and glistening metal filaments. The hunter could hear the sound of the jewelry moving clarion clear compared to the crying in the engulfed carriage. The head lifted; the hunter felt a prickling sensation at the back of their neck and their eyes slid away from the sight as if they were being pushed. They could see—nothing. Each time they forced their gaze to return to the head of the thing the only image they could understand was the hooded garment. 

Two arms reached out with sable cloth wrapped tightly along the limbs and the hunter spotted thin pointed claws. More arms seemed to appear from her abdomen, but their appearance made the hunter step back instinctively for each one was wielding a long, curved blade. 

As the creature advanced they stumbled backward. A moment ago they had been thirsting for the kill—to quench the infant’s cry—but this creature seemed to silence all.

The hunter refused to retreat further. They forced their body to grow still. They let their weight shift forward and when the first blade fell they dashed ahead of its arc, their shoulder brushing against the layered fabric at the creature’s side as they passed. They ducked as two elbows jutted backward and nearly snapped against their skull. Their momentum carried them forward—they briefly lamented that the chance to stab the creature in the side was lost before noticing with great relief that if they had stayed for much longer the far-reaching blades would have swung around and cut them in half.

To the hunter’s growing frustration, the pattern continued. The two danced around one another, each taking swipes that missed by mere moments. The hunter could feel the acidic burn growing in their strained muscles.

It would take just one misstep on the ancient cobblestones to end in evisceration. The blood pounding in their ears kept them from backing off, from slowing down, from knowing that they could die and return as a more clever and well-rested opponent. Their throat felt raw from their increasingly ragged breaths. They were mindlessly pursuing an _end_, some conclusion to the night that felt as if it had grown to engulf their entire life.

Sharp metal slipped past their waist and they threw themselves to the side to avoid it. Their boot slammed down on trailing fabric and they stumbled. The hunter and the creature spun around one another, their respective blades falling from above and thrusting up from below—and the air went dense. The hunter thrashed as their shoulder was pierced. They hacked at the limb holding the sword. They could feel the vibration of the metal tip of the blade grinding against stone through their shoulder. For some unknown reason, it was difficult to see anything beyond the writhing fabric above them. The light of the moon seemed to have disappeared. 

The myriad hands of the creature held them down and the hunter was finding it harder to breathe. One gnarled hand clutched at their wrist and pressed harshly against the tendons, causing them to drop their cleaver. Their gun fired once, twice into the interior depths of the creature. She merely made a shuddering flinch and grasped at the hunter’s finger, extricating it from the trigger and pulling it back until they cried out and dropped the pistol.

That hood was all too close, the void-face hanging over theirs. Delicate silver chains pooled and coiled on the hunter’s chest. The hunter knew they would soon be killed, practically _diced _by this damned creature that was predominantly swords, and that they would have to return, that the itch inside their head would never stop, not until whatever _thing _inside the carriage was silenced, that the moon above would pull them to that courtyard again and again—

The hunter felt their eyes burning with tears. They struggled against the creature’s grasp. They felt trapped in a self-inflicted frenzy, the self-eroding _need _to hunt and be done with the never-ending night.

They were so upset that they did not wonder why the creature hadn’t just done away with them yet.

The layered cloth was heavy on their body, almost oppressive. The sharp blades held them fast against the stone floor. The void-face was so close that it made the hunter’s sight feel completely senseless.   
  
The cloth of the hood shifted. The air moving made the hunter feel the wetness of tears on their face.

The form of the creature fluttered and folded inward upon itself, moving like a lotus un-blooming. The razor edges of her blades glared back white moonlight as they slid to wrap around their back and pull them off the ground. 

The hunter was drawn deep inside.  
  
It felt a bit like entering a palace, or some similarly opulent place. Tiny star-like jewels glimmered above the hunter's head like a chandelier constellation. Metal twinkled as layers parted, veils shifted, curtains lifted consecutively as if to reveal to them a center stage, where the creature's hollow innards were illumined by pale and burning spotlights—and the hunter strode into them. Their eyes watered. Their chest began to ache.

They felt a tiny prick of cold upon their forehead.

_ You feel so tired_.   
  
They felt so tired.

_ You don’t have to do this. _

They flinched and wavered. The prickle of cold grew and they felt unsteady.

_ You feel so tired. _

So tired and unsure and afraid.

_ You can leave the hunt behind. _

Their fingers twitched, longing for the familiar weight of the cleaver.

_ You feel so tired. _

So tired of carrying this unknown responsibility, one that was thrust upon them with the first drop of Yharnam blood that was pushed into their veins.

_ Kneel. _

They collapsed and landed hard on their knees.

_ If you are tired, rest. _

Their head lolled forward. They blinked in confusion as the cold feeling grew and began to lap down their neck. They kept trying to remember where their pistol landed, or how many vials they had brought, but—

_ You don’t have to think about it. _

Their thoughts kept scattering. Their brows were knit in concentration.

_ Listen to me. _

Their hands felt as heavy as lead but they lifted them to clutch at their skull as if they could catch the thoughts that kept slipping away.

_ Stop. _

Their thoughts slowed to a glacial pace. Their head felt empty. 

_ You can have a pleasant dream instead_.

The creature rewarded them with an effusive warmth. They gasped. The sensation prickled at their shoulder blades and traveled down their spine, ending with a hot twinge in their gut.

_ Stay still. _

The hunter was hoisted into the air. A blade rocked against their belly. Pain was not unpleasant but was instead mere contrast—a red comet's tail slashing across midnight calm. They let out a sigh and heard their blood patter on the floor.

_ Good. You’re being very good. _

The hunter shivered.

_ You’re obedient_.

Their breath caught in their throat. They _were _obedient, a servant of whatever cosmic whim had the opportunity to leash them—if a shadowy rune could do it, if the moon above could do it, then so could this creature—they could let her pluck out those awful urges and replace them with this cold, unending calm—

_ Do as I say. _

They lifted a languid hand, stretched out their fingers towards the hood of the creature, and reached out but could not grasp.

_ Don’t come back. _

The blades pushed through them and their vision faded.

* * *

Of course they had to come back. The hunter just hoped that with each clash of blade against bone, with each white-knuckled stab into the body of the creature—  
  
with the moon above watching impassively—  
  
that she understood why.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, No Jokes!  
The title, soporo sanguine, is roughly equal to sleepy blood.  
It's nice to get back to the bloodborne fic scene, I've been busy with grad school and felt truly allergic to writing for fun!


End file.
